


Ale to the King

by glayish



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Brothers, Community: norsekink, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glayish/pseuds/glayish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well then,” The corner of Thor’s mouth hooks up as Loki meets his gaze, “Best future King wins?”</p><p>Thor has never seen Loki drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ale to the King

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Ale to the King (中譯)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1483756) by [Coralhime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coralhime/pseuds/Coralhime)



> This is a fill for the [following prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/9985.html?thread=20556289) on the norsekink meme: 
> 
> For some reason Thor never seen Loki when he's drunk (maybe Loki simply never get drunk fearing he might 'lose control' or something..)  
> so it takes him and everyone around him by surprise When he sees Loki turns to an adorable giggling mess. (Loki is depressed/Thor drags him to a party, you decide why he got drunk at the first place) 
> 
> bonus points if Thor is extremely turned on to see his brother acts so differently and Loki spill personal things about his feelings towards him. plus lazy hot sex happens

Inside the tavern is hot and stuffy, a pocket of comfortable warmth on a cold evening, one that you can stick your hand into and never want to pull out. Thor smiles indulgently, leaning on his elbows as he watches the festivities. It’s Volstagg’s day of birth, and the feasting has stretched from the morning long into the night. Aesir don’t normally celebrate this occasion, as they’ve far too many years to live, but Volstagg is one of the few who believes there’s always good cause and time for celebration. 

Like every good triumph, even one as simple as the passage of time, Volstagg decides they must celebrate with food. And drink. This one establishment had ale finer than even amongst the storage bales in the palace. At least, that is what the drunken patrons would have him believe.

Sif and Fandral guzzle down another set of drinks before slamming empty tankards against the table as one. The various plates holding the bones and remnants of dinner clatter, forks tinkering to the floor. 

“How now, be careful there, I’ve not yet finished my cake.” Volstagg warns. He brandishes a large wedge of pastry in his palm, sweet frosting lining his beard.

Sif snorts and rubs the back of her mouth with her arm. “Let’s get another!”

“Here here!” Fandral waves a hand and Hogun just sighs disparagingly, rolling his eyes in a not so subtle gesture. Fandral is a bit woozy looking, as they’ve been at this drinking competition for a while. If it’s nothing else, Aesir can hold their drink, especially to gain a win.

Thor raises his own glass in high spirits, though he has not consumed as much as his comrades, saving himself for the impending battle with Hogun. For what Hogun lacks in talkativeness he makes up for in spades during a battle of tongue-loosening ale drinking. There’s nothing more amusing than to hear a bravely losing Hogun get up and sing. Much too bad that Hogun usually found a way out of competing to spare himself the embarrassment. He had a lovely voice.

Thor grins, and then the door to the stuffy tavern is thrown open. A gust of cool night air rushes in, bringing with it Loki, dark robes flapping out in front of him until he shuts the door.

“Brother,” Thor greets getting up to wave Loki towards their table in the back. His brother spots them and though he makes a rather quick beeline, it is evident once he’s closer that there is a bored sneer curling up his lips.

“Thor, you’ve missed the lessons.” He reprimands, placing hands on slim leather-clad hips. 

“Oh,” Thor is sheepish as his friends snicker at the admonishment from his little brother. “I know, but it is Volstagg’s day!” He gestures with his frothy mug towards the rotund warrior, frantically chewing his way through a thick custard-topped tart.

Thor reaches one bare arm out to steal a chair from a nearby table, propping it right next to his own. “Come, have a seat Loki. Celebrate with us.”

Loki grits his teeth as though the mere thought of relaxing brings him vexation. His brother is truly angry it seems, with him. Thor puts down his drink and frowns in confusion.

“Did I miss something so very important that you are here now to scold me?”

Loki slides into the offered seat, but he more or less perches, like a bird wary of being so low to the ground. His bright gaze is sharp as he cuts eyes at Thor, planting one elbow against the table and twisting his mouth.

“Only an important lesson on legislation that Father so kindly organized.”

Ah yes, that was today then. Thor vaguely recalls hearing Odin speak of the meeting with some of his dustiest advisors. It had been a while yet since Thor and Loki had needed to attend schooling or classes and Thor had never been happier when their education was finished. He wasn’t the scholarly sort, like Loki, and preferred more to spend his time honing his battle skills or wasting time away in adventurous travels. Now though, after a near endless rule, Odin seemed to be thinking of a new coronation, and thus, thinking of his sons.

But to be shut up in the palace learning the decrepit old laws and traditions of their world was so tired an exercise that Thor saw no point to it. Why should he bother to learn such dull things when he planned to rule as he wished once he was crowned? So attending such a lesson, the very idea of it bored Thor to tears. It’s no wonder he’d supported Volstagg’s decision to hold a party today.

“Well, what’s done is done...” Thor laughs off his misdeed and winks at Loki. “Perhaps I can speak with old Agmund later. A private lesson. He does so love me after all.”

Loki bristles and turns away, staring ahead with obvious discontent. “As you say, Brother.”

“You’re always cooped up in the palace or in the pages of some new book.” Thor thumps Loki on the shoulder there’s another rattle of the table as Sif and Fandral throw down a set of tankards. “Have some fun with us!”

“Aye, your face is pinched with discontent, Loki.” Volstagg says around a large content belch that has Sif waving a hand in front of her face. “Why not drink it off? Maid! ANOTHER.”

“You can drink against Thor,” Hogun is quick to suggest and lifts Fandral’s head from the table by a handful of coiffed blond hair. “Sif won this round.”

Fandral’s head is dropped back down unceremoniously to his stupor. 

“No,” Loki raises an eyebrow, “Thank you.”

“But that is a wonderful idea!” Thor beams and throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders, to which Loki hunches with a grumble.

It would be a great bout of fun to best his brother. Compared to Hogun, who knew what type of lush his brother could be? Perhaps it would be so embarrassing that Thor could persuade his brother to keep his lack of attendance to the lesson under the rug.

“Thor,” Loki complains, pushing at his heavily draped arm, succeeds in only dislodging Thor enough so that it is curled around the back of his chair. “You know I detest these childish games. Especially the ones you choose to play while _I_ attend to the work...”

“Nonsense!” Volstagg says against Loki’s usual spiel. “Only real men can know the pleasures of a pint!”

Thor is grateful for his friend’s interruption as he doesn’t want the accompanying annoyance to creep up on the tail end of such a brilliant celebration. Loki’s critiques of his Princely demeanour have always sawed away at Thor’s resolve, made him question his ability to rule.

“And women, naturally,” Sif slurs, rosy cheeked and punching the large redhead warrior in the arm.

“Of course,” Volstagg says, rubbing surreptitiously. 

“Then we will have a battle of the Princes,” Hogun firmly nods and settles two fresh tankards of the golden ale in front of the two sons of Odin.

“Well then,” The corner of Thor’s mouth hooks up as Loki meets his gaze, “Best future King wins?”

And _that_ puts Loki’s hand solidly on the handle of his drink. 

Loki smirks back, a slow thing that does something to the pit of Thor’s stomach, a curling sensation of competiveness and fierce pride. Loki’s gloved thumb draws off some of the fluffy popping froth, “A toast then, to dear Volstagg, whose years stretch almost as much as his pants.”

Loki downs his ale with Thor close behind.

******

Thor slams his tankard down once more. There are cheers all around him but then a hollow sounding clunk to his right and Loki has emptied his mug too.

They’re going strong, drink for drink. 

Thor’s just a bit faster at guzzling, the golden liquid bubbling its way down the back of his throat as he gulps. But Loki puts the drinks back just as swell, every drink that Thor takes Loki takes one as well. It’s almost a bit unnerving, the way Loki looks bored as he does so, but Thor knows the burn of determination to best his brother. To come out on top. It’s fair play after all, that Loki should want just the same.

“Another!” Thor calls fiercely and they need not even move their hands before full glasses are gliding across the tabletops into their waiting palms. 

Thor watches over the brim of his drink as Loki swallows thickly, the apple of his throat bobbing slowly. Loki’s eyes are half-lidded, from the effects of the ale or the low lights he knows not. Many patrons have dragged themselves home by now, or up to the rooms that line the upper level. Thor planned to retire there too, not wanting to ride his horse off into a ditch somewhere on the way back up to the palace. He knew it was bad form to show up where his mother or father could see his drunkenness. Loki _still_ made jest of the day he came home riding atop an over amorous member of some villager’s livestock.

“Thor, I’m growing bored,” Fandral complains, having snoozed himself back into sobriety. “Hogun why don’t you switch out? Loki you are the least interesting drunk I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing.”

“Oh?” Loki lowers his drink just enough so his rosy face is unobscured and lightly taps a fist against his chest to let out a soft cough. “Far be it from me to deny you your simple pleasures. A few more rounds and maybe we can find Thor here another fine goat to—”

Thor puts his fingers under Loki’s mug and pushes up so that its rim is against Loki’s lips. It tips and Loki gulps the rest of the ale, Thor keeping his hand against the base of the mug until it’s all gone.

Loki gasps when he’s finished and blinks sluggishly at Thor. Thor suspects this is supposed to be a glare but it doesn’t come off that way. It comes off as—

Thor shakes his head a bit as if to clear it from clouds, and when that doesn’t work he downs another helping to wash away something that felt vaguely like sobriety but not quite. Thor’s starting to go fuzzy, but in the good way, where dark edges become soft and everything seems fun. The ale sits heavily atop the dense feasting of the day in his stomach, which means he’s not yet near falling over.

There’s no sign of the other stopping. Still they pound back the drinks, as if each sparkling amber tankard can get them closer to the crown. Loki hasn’t eaten a hardy meal like Thor has, he always eats so little, and Thor wonders suspiciously if Loki is cheating somehow, turning his ale to water or something of the like just to best him. Usually Loki tires of games as simple as this, it’s true. But the fierce competitiveness that has been struck up now puts a twinge of doubt in Thor’s mind. That Loki believes himself more capable of taking the throne. That he thinks Thor unworthy.

But everyone knows that Thor will be crowned as King, as the first born, the more accomplished warrior. There’s no reason for his brother to prove himself like this. 

As time passes with neither brother slowing, people grow tired of watching, as no one is making a fool of themselves. Volstagg is lugged upstairs by his two fellow warriors, and Sif wanders off, likely home instead of wasting more money in an unruly tavern. His brother’s face is red and breath is slow but that is all the indication there is an effect on him. 

Thor puts his empty tankard down and watches Loki’s eyelids sweep low as he swallows.

It’s just the two of them now, in an ironclad tie, and Thor thinks it’s about time to end the night. 

That is, until Loki lets out the first snicker.

Thor has never seen his brother drunk before, so he’s not quite sure of what he’s seeing when it finally happens. 

Loki hiccups, rubs a hand over his flushed face and smacks his blood-filled lips. He turns to Thor and smirks, but when he goes to put his glass down, somehow misses. There’s only froth that comes spilling out though, as the glass rolls on its side across the table, the contents drained dry.

It’s clear that Loki was just holding onto some semblance of control in the presence of their comrades because another bout of snickers bubble up from him, higher pitched as only Thor remembers when they were children wreaking havoc in the courtyards. Loki hiccups again and his head bows, a hand coming up to press against his eyes. Loki blinks owlishly when he pulls back, as though he’s grown an extra finger. It’s... adorable.

“Brother, are you alright?” Thor manages to ask, so surprised is he by Loki’s lack of finesse. He’s always so composed, to the point of being reserved sometimes, that to see this new relaxed slump puts Thor’s perspective off kilter. 

“Mm,” Loki rests chin against palm, a few black locks of hair falling away from behind his ear to stick against flushed cheekbones. He starts to giggle while reaching for a fresh pitcher of ale to pour into his tankard.

Thor nearly pinches himself to rid what surely must be an illusion. But there it is, his brother. As Thor looks at him he doesn’t recognize Loki. He is more like a lush stranger, face flushed and nearly panting for each breath. He drinks the air as if it’s the ale in his cup, deep and thirstily, mouth hanging slightly open. He looks at the ale as though this is the answer to some question that burdens him, Thor knows that look well. It’s on so many faces of men who wind up in taverns, hugging their drinks close. 

He idly wonders what could bother Loki so but the thought flits away like a bubble trail going upwards in a perfect glass of ale. Perhaps this tavern is not so boastful after all. The tip of Loki’s soft pink tongue slips out to lick away a bit of foam that spills over black leather gloved fingers holding slackly onto yet another full mug. But he just looks at it, not yet sipping of the bittersweet liquid.

Thor’s glad to stop the game, simply happy that Loki has stayed when everyone else hadn’t. Even when it’s so obvious that this is the last thing Loki would do on his own. Others may call Loki unkind names for his multifaceted nature, but Thor has only known its shine. He’s always supporting Thor like this. Loki, his brother.

But Loki downs the drink and then huffs in amusement, lips wet and plump mouthing against the cool rim of his empty glass, “Let’s have another.”

So Thor calls for it.

And another.

And one more.

Thor lazily pushes the tankard away, shaking his head and burping. The burning sensation in his nostrils wakes him up thoroughly. That last drink had been nearly all froth. He scowls in the direction of the barmaid, chewing some leftover sweet fruit from Volstagg’s dessert plates. And promptly realizes that the night has swiftly closed in, more shadows than candlelight dancing across the walls. The sweet smell of smoke swirls around them as the maids blow out the lights.

They pay the two men no mind though and continue to clean up. Thor palms the keys to his rooms for the night through his pants pocket.

“Thor, he-heheheh...” Loki’s soft voice dissolves into soft snickers. There’s a smack of lips. When Thor looks over, Loki is rubbing at his raw wet mouth, face a mess. Oh, but his brother is wrecked now, Thor’s sure of it. The light reflecting in Loki’s eyes makes his dilated pupils all the more pronounced, a thin ring of green wrapped around the black.

Loki reaches out, arm wavering up and down like the surface of a dark lake during the middle of the storm. He puts a hand to Thor’s chin and swipes clumsily away some errant froth, ever fastidious. 

The lazy press and drag of his gloved thumb against Thor’s stubble is the striking of a match. It leaves a burn behind in one thick swipe and Thor’s heart thuds a bruise on the inside of his chest in reaction. There’s a rush in his blood, as though some spell has conjured heat enough for it to _boil._

“You win.” Loki concedes, voice deep and drunk.

“Now I _know_ you most definitely have had enough.” Thor tells him, unable to contain his amusement and pleasure upon hearing those words. 

Thor always wins, eventually, but Loki rarely admits so. Thor can’t help it, the corners of his mouth turn up in the kind of smile that usually sets Loki on edge with embarrassment. The one where it’s obvious to anyone who looks upon them just how much Thor loves his brother. 

Loki rarely looks back at Thor like that, but he is now, with lethargic movements, lazily scraping at his bottom lip with teeth, his cheeks aflame with a blush. It’s endearing, to see his normally composed brother like this. Loki, who thinks he’d be the better King, but with harshness eaten away by alcohol he’s revealed as something so simple. 

Loki hiccups once, twice, then snorts and laughs at himself. 

Thor pats Loki’s hand upon his face and then curls fingers overtop it, peeling the hot leather away and holding it carefully.

“Let’s get you to bed then.”

******

“Here,” Thor helps slip his brother’s long coat off, “Go wash your face.”

“Nota _child_ , Thor,” Loki murmurs, yanking his arms out. He kind of sways as if he’s forgotten about his feet until Thor gently pushes Loki towards the small private water chambers, the only luxury of being a Prince in a common tavern. 

Thor shirks off his boots and armored vest, rolling his naked shoulders. He can hear the distant snores of the Warriors Three from next door until the sound of the basin filling with water trickles into his ear. Loki’s fingers slide against the taps and Thor nearly laughs when Loki dips his cupped hands into the water, gloves and all.

“It’snotfunny,” Loki gasps against the cool assault, water spilling down his pointy chin in one thick stream. But even as he says this Loki is a snickering wet mess.

“You’re drunk,” Thor crows into Loki’s ear as he pads close behind.

“Temporari- _hic_ -ly-ly.”

Thor shrugs, pressing a teasing finger into the back of Loki’s ribs as he passes to go and relieve himself, the burden of too-much ale finally letting itself be known. When he’s done, Thor moves to rinse at the basin as well, where Loki is standing stock still, hands firmly planted against the cool stone, panting. The mirror has been fogged up by his brother’s breath.

“Brother, lie down.” Thor suggests and follows amusedly as Loki staggers away from the facilities, only to stumble, his hand landing heavily against the large pile of furs and bedding to keep from tipping over.

Thor reaches out to put a steadying hand on Loki’s shoulder but it’s not needed. Loki just pauses there, breathing deeply through his nose and exhaling through his open mouth. The hot air ghosts across Thor’s bare arm like a shiver, hairs rising up at the sensation.

“I _am_ drunk. Mphff,” Loki complains with a laugh and lets his face hit the soft furs. He lies there for just a moment before crawling up the pelts, fingers tunneling through thick furs as he goes. 

Once he hits the pillows, he moans, low.

The amusement in Thor’s stomach abruptly turns to a hot coal, burning as if he’s swallowed a star. It’s tight and almost painful, the sudden shock of arousal that shoots through him as he watches Loki curl into a ball, knees up to his chest and a pillow hugged to his face.

This is not the brother who bids Thor a cool goodnight, disappearing down the hallways of the palace into the shadows. This is not Loki, who would not lie next to him in another thousand tomorrows.

“Well?” Loki pulls the pillow away from his face long enough for Thor to see lazy mischievous eyes. Long gloved fingers curl into the pelts. “Are you, mmhm- _hic_ -sleeping or not?”

“You’ve these still on,” Thor comments, pulling off Loki’s boots for him. Thor lies down, pillowing his head on one arm. He takes one of Loki’s gloved hands just because he can, because Loki lets him. Loki even flushes more, lips pressed together in a nearly bashful expression as he looks away. It makes sense, for just this moment, to lace their fingers together. 

“Come on, let’s sleep this off,” Thor advises and Loki snickers. 

“ _Take_ this off, you mean.”

Loki chews on the tip of the leather glove on his free hand, supple hide rolling between his teeth. His charcoal eyelashes are nearly fanned against his swollen red cheeks as he clamps down and pulls. The way the glove drags to reveal pale skin sends a hitch into Thor’s breath.

He swallows as though he’s got a sudden fizzing gulp of ale filling his mouth. He’s a bit drunk too, after all. Which makes it okay, really, to feel detached by the drink. Like they’re two different people. It’s easy even, with Loki looking at him like that. So open.

“Thor, I know you do not believe I think so, but,” Loki implores, words muffled against the soft furs and sleepy eyes that bore deep holes of untold want into Thor’s heart.

“You will be a good King.”

“Thank you.” Thor tightens his grip on Loki’s hand. 

His heart swells, beats so fast within his chest. Loki gasps a bit at the pressure of the squeeze, grips back for just a second, before he scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth and a bright grin is splitting his shining lips wide. Thor half-smiles back and tugs the remaining glove off before tucking his brother’s hand back close to his deeply rising and falling chest. Loki unravels the lacing on his shirt, loosening it for bed. Thor’s unnerved by the way his blood is rushing at the simple touch of Loki’s hand, at the way those sleepy drunken eyes are starting to seduce his baser urges. 

Seems like Loki’s an exciting drunk after all.

He feels it as Loki shifts and shimmies, snickering and hiccupping into the darkness. It is like lying next to a lover, a restless body twisting provocatively scant measurements away. Thor grips the furs, and closes his eyes to see his own heartbeat, red and fast in the backs of his lids. He presses hips to the bedding and sighs.

“Sleep now, Brother.”

******

Thor wakes drowsily to the feel of a line of toes skimming down the back of his leg. From the back of his knee all the way down to his ankle, the soft pad of a bare foot dragging across the coarse fabric of his pants. Thor groans, kicks back gently, untangling the long limbs from his own. He rolls to the side.

Thor’s still half asleep, and his pants feel too hot, too rough against his skin. He blearily pushes them down, kicks them away and runs palms up the sides of his legs, hips, feels the unpleasant indents left behind. He smoothes out his skin, slipping a hand up and down to return the blood flow. He huffs, shut eyes fluttering as he caresses his inner thigh, thumb curling to stroke at the dip where leg meets hip. He’s half hard.

“Mppff,” Thor swings his face into a pillow, throwing his arms underneath it to stop from getting too worked up. The foot returns and a chin nuzzles against his shoulder. Thor sucks in a deep warm breath of air, eyes still closed. It feels good, the lazy stroke up and down. A hand not his own takes up the same path as before, fingerpads soothing all the way up to the curve of one hip bone, nails dragging down the groove that trails down to his cock.

Thor gasps and rolls onto his back, and Loki’s head lolls against him, the skin of his cheek hot and supple, sticking to Thor’s bare chest. Drunken pants of air fan across Thor, carrying the faint fragrance and taste of fine ale.

“Mhmm,” Thor rumbles, pulls his arm out of its suddenly too-hot pillow prison to curl around Loki’s shoulders. Loki’s fingers curl against his hips, his ribs, his chest. Head tucked into the hollow at Thor’s neck. Thor sucks in a breath and holds it, to somehow suffocate his arousal, but Loki feels so different, so soft. _Affectionate._

“Loki,” Thor whispers, barely opening his eyes to stroke a thumb against Loki’s upper arm. It’s dark but he sees the thin fabric of Loki’s open shirt slip down one pale shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Loki hiccups and shifts away, scooting further down so that Thor’s arm folds atop his dark locks which splay messily against Thor’s chest. Loki makes an indiscernible content noise from somewhere below but Thor doesn’t bother to search. His brother laughs a deep slow laugh that comes straight from the gut. It turns into a delighted hum as it leaves his lips and vibrates across Thor’s skin. 

“ _Hic_ -Nothing.”

“Liar,” Thor yawns but can’t help but be amused still. He slides a hand down Loki’s back, finds a hold under his arms and drags him back up. “You’re always up to something.”

“Stilldrunkitseems.” Loki slurs together, tilts his head, grin bright and lazy, eyes soft. 

Thor rolls them to their sides and takes the edge of the bunched furs to pull it so it is tucked right under Loki’s chin. 

“Sleep it off.”

But Loki never listens.

Loki’s teeth graze the shell of his ear when he leans in close, “No.”

Thor freezes.

It is as if Loki senses this small victory and so does it again, combs Thor’s long hair away from his ear and bites at his earlobe. Tugs.

“Loki,” Thor swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. “What are you doing?”

Loki tugs harder, the tip of his tongue touching the blood-filled lobe of Thor’s ear for one blazingly hot moment before Loki lets go and whispers, “I’m hungry.”

“And drunk,” Thor replies, gasping as Loki curls one naked leg to hook around the tender sensitive flesh of his knee. Loki strokes with his calve, up and down, licking his lips. Thor’s mouth feels dry, he wets his lips too.

“ _Starving._ ” Loki groans softly, slowly. “Thor, can- _hic_ -you...” He cuts himself off by lazily mouthing at Thor’s collarbone.

His palm slides against Thor’s inner thigh again, dangerously close to Thor’s cock which throbs to life. Loki presses close, and Thor jumps, mouth dropping open in a low pleased shock as he feels Loki’s own growing hardness against his hip, thick and hot.

“What do I have to do?” Loki starts laughing under his breath, the drunk little giggles bursting across Thor’s chest. “I’m not a goat, dear Brother, but,” The air shimmers and Loki’s impressive golden helm magics into view. He rears up, softly butting the horns against Thor’s forehead. 

“Better?” He grins, the tip of his tongue pushing against his bared lower teeth, “Horny?”

“Stop,” Thor can’t help but chuckle, feeling a bit breathless against the playfulness that has taken over his brother. He grabs at one of the offending protrusions to pull Loki’s helm off and his brother lets out a soft gasp as it’s removed, a lock of black hair getting stuck to fluttering eyelashes, mouth forming a slack pout.

Thor presses his thumb against Loki’s mouth and Loki bites down, gently, his teeth scraping at the fingertip before Thor feels the hot, inexplicably hot, wet touch of tongue. He groans and his hips give a little jerk, his cock landing atop Loki’s caressing hand. It is enough invitation for Loki who curls fingers around the length, just holding in a firm grasp.

“ _Thor,_ ” Loki murmurs. Hiccups. Pulls in one slow torturously firm stroke up to the head of Thor’s cock. Thor shudders violently and rolls atop his brother, seeking more with his large hands holding Loki down by his sides. Loki circles his hips, throwing his head back to expose a long column of untouched throat.

“Thor,” Loki gasps again, “Please, I need—”

“Mmphhfff,” Thor smothers whatever else is to be said with an open mouthed kiss. It’s not even a kiss though, not really, as they are mouthing at each other’s lips, exchanging hot licks as if to remove every last drop of ale. Whoever drinks the most would be the one to rule. This is just another competition between brothers.

Thor grinds his hips downwards, into Loki’s tight grip, thigh bearing down on Loki’s cock. Loki makes the sweetest most desperate sound, forehead wrinkling as his brows turn up. Thor does it again, rocking, and Loki has no choice but to let go and grip at Thor’s back with both hands. His legs fall open, spreading out and rippling up the bedding with a loud rustle.

The slap and drag of skin against skin is their only conversation. Thor pulls at Loki’s lower lip with teeth before pressing open mouth kisses and soft bites down the sharp line of his jaw until he is sucking at Loki’s neck. Loki lifts a leg high to curve around Thor’s ass, and he clenches, as if hoping to speed up the pace. But Thor goes slow, writhing against Loki in languid movements that has them both panting deeply, sucking greedy gulps of air. Drinking in the quiet moans and hitches in breath as they roll together, for long, long moments into the night, tangling into a knot that can’t be undone.

Thor’s heavy weight upon his brother’s slim body turns from dry heat to slick as he begins to sweat. The salty drops of perspiration roll down his skin, answering beads welling up along Loki’s temple, collarbone, the backs of his thighs. Thor runs hands in all these places, pushes against Loki harder and harder until Loki’s nails scrape against Thor’s shoulders as he lets out a choked frantic moan. He comes against the crease of Thor’s hip, back arching so hard that his chest lifts Thor up to his elbows. 

Thor rides it out, sliding against Loki so much easier and then slipping a hand underneath to hold Loki tightly to himself by one firm ass cheek. Thor squeezes, and Loki’s head falls back against the pillows, boneless as he allows Thor to thrust into the tight press of their abdomens. Loki’s mouth is hanging wide open, slack as though the air is too thick to bite down on. His cheeks and neck are flushed pink, bruises sucked in by Thor in his haze turning a dark blue.

Loki grabs at the furs beside his head, framing himself with pale long arms, legs splayed open, knees bent, and a dark indulgent gaze. He rocks up to meet Thor at each thrust until Thor lets out a shuddering moan, burying his face in his brother’s chest, stubble scratching. They roll together onto their sides, breathing deep and sluggish.

“Thor,” Loki whispers, his voice light and gasping, like a bird’s wings in flight.

Thor presses a sleepy lazy kiss to Loki’s mouth, the brush of lips warm and comforting. Loki moans a little, stroking Thor’s hair, and Thor licks his way into Loki’s mouth, getting drunk on the plump sensual slip of Loki’s tongue more than anything else. 

Eyes struggling to stay open, the blackness of sated exhaustion stealing away strength, Thor yawns. Loki’s hiccups are gone.

Sleep.

******

“So who won?” Fandral yawns, stretching his arms out wide. The morning sun is much too bright and they are all a haggard, bedraggled mess, with hair hanging in eyes and clothing askew.

“It was a draw,” Thor answers as diplomatically as he can, rubbing one sweaty palm over his face. He can barely think over the pounding in his head, the bleary satisfied feeling that has made his limbs lazy and heart thud with love.

He and Hogun grunt and heave until finally Volstagg is dumped into the wheel barrel Sif has so kindly brought down to the tavern. It’s necessary to carry him all the way home. No horse would take him in this state.

“Urghhghmhmmfff....” The redhead groans and covers his head with a bucket. 

“Good idea,” Sif mutters, adjusting her scarf to better shield her eyes. 

They are all a mess. Loki is the only one who is composed, appearance fastidious and unconcerned of the noise and light of day. He approaches the band of friends after paying the landlord for the stay. Smirks slightly at Volstagg’s awful state.

“I stand corrected,” Loki says and Thor frowns in confusion. Who would have thought to be gifted with such admittance from _Loki_ , after all?

“I now know the true pleasures of the pint.”

 

END.


End file.
